


CURSED FIC (Branjie)

by Mistressaq



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Crack, Discussion of Abortion, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:42:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistressaq/pseuds/Mistressaq
Summary: My usual WIPs are like finely crafted pottery: achingly selected clay, lovingly worked on a wheel, fired, glazed with care and fired again, so it shines... this is the play-doh version of my usual fics. Nobody should read this. But you will.





	1. This is Awful but it’s Branjie so you thirsty fuckers will read it

**Author's Note:**

> can you orphan a work before posting it?

Brooke smiled and brushed his fingers through his hair when he saw the name attached to the phone call he was getting. “Hey Jose,” he answered flirtily.

“Hey babe,” he sounded stressed. “Listen… ah… I don’t know how to tell you this-- I’d prefer in person but, I mean--’

“We’re on different sides of the country,” Brooke finished. “Would you rather face chat?”

“Naw… naw, it’s -- it’s good. Well it’s not good…”

“Are you breaking up with me?” Brooke asked, half joking.

“What? No!”

Brooke had to pull his ear away from the phone. “So… what’s up then?”

He heard vanjie take a drag off a cigarette. “Look… d’you remember Las Cruces?”

Brooke chuckled. “Not all of it. We had a great time, I know that.”

“Well…” He breathed out. Brooke could almost smell the smoke across the connection. There was a beat of silence where he imagined Vanjie flicking ash onto the pavement. “You remember those weird, unlabeled poppers they had us do?”

“Were they unlabeled?” asked Brooke. A small amount of tension built in his gut. “I thought I remembered they said they had like, essential oils.”

“They may have,” said Vanjie. “Anyway that’s the only thing I can trace this back to since that’s APPARENTLY the timing even though I dunno JACK SHIT about any of this -- never HAD to before--”

“Jose,” Brooke’s voice was low and serious. “You’re scaring me, what’s going on?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Brooke doubled over laughing, glad the tension was released. He sighed into the phone. “Oh, that’s a good one, babe. I actually really needed that, thank you.”

“I’m glad _you’re_ laughing.”

“I certainly am. You got a show tonight?”

“I always have a show, Brock, and I’m carrying your butt baby.”

Brooke fell apart laughing again. “Still funny the second time,” he sighed. “Anything else you wanna talk about?”

“Yeah, how about how I aint got no youteris and yet you got dis bitch knocked up!”

“HAAAAA! Take care babe good luck tonight, love ya.”

 

An hour or so later, when Brooke is painting his nails, he receives a string of instagram videos from Jose. He finishes his first coat and starts to watch the videos while his toes dry. His interest is piqued when he sees the still image is of Jose in a bathroom. Brooke loves a cheeky nude pic, especially of Jose. He hits play.

“Alright,” says Jose, his voice bouncing off the walls. “You don’t believe me, that’s fine. I didn’t believe the fucking doctor -- doctor **_s_ **, actually. But here, you won’t believe me when I tell you? Lemme fuckin’ show you.” He pulls a plastic stick out of a box that came out of a CVS Pharmacy bag and shows it to the camera. “Imma focus on this shit. You see that? Now, those prank tests just come out the box with the fake lines on it and shit, this is legit -- see, this my CVS receipt. Okay?” he turns around and looks at the toilet, then a frustrated look comes over his face as he looks from the toilet, to his gym shorts, to the stick in his hand. “Fuck…” he says to himself before looking at the camera. “Am I gonna have to sit?”

That was the end of the first string of video. The second started with Jose turning the video back on and then captured every second of him going over to the toilet, his face when confronted with sitting to pee and every uncomfortable, intimate second of watching his partner doing this had a seed of doubt growing in Brooke’s mind. _This doesn’t seem like the kind of joke Jose would make..._

Jose finished peeing and put the wet stick in front of the phone camera. Brooke didn’t know why he was a little grossed out by that.

The third string of video followed Jose just staring blankly into the camera until his phone timer went off. He didn’t even look at the test himself -- that’s how confident he was. He just held it up to the camera so the phone would auto focus on the teeny screen. Sure enough, there it was, in pixelated black letters: **pregnant**.

Brooke didn’t know what or how or when or where to feel and do what and understand and literally what the fuck it had to be a joke… they were **_MEN_ ** for Christs sake!

He checked, and Jose had added a caption to the third video he sent. _This is not supposed to be a part of the gay experience._

Brooke’s brain is glitching out. He types back: _it is not_

 

Next time he saw him active on instagram, Brooke called him. They just stared at each other for a good couple minutes. Jose looked tired, and fed up, and just… done. That’s not the face of a master conman.

Brooke took in a breath and decided to fill the silence. “So… what’s the deal with those poppers? Why do you think that… did this.”

“Here’s what I think happened,” replied Vanjie. “I think one of us -- us just being gay people in general ‘cause I ain’t never been to New Mexico before -- I think one of ‘us’ pissed off a witch, and now we’ve been cursed. That’s what I think.”

Brooke pursed his lips. “...huh,” he said.

“And look,” said Vanjie. “Don’t ask ‘cause I already did, but they don’t even know how it’s possible this happened, which is why I say it’s a CURSE, but I asked, and they do not do butt abortions.”

Brooke found himself doubled over laughing again. The sheer weirdness, the sheer impossibility -- he was ready to believe Vangie's ‘vengeful witch’ hypothesis! “So…” he tried again. “You gonna stop smoking, or…?”

“No?!” vanjie scratched. “This cannot be happening, this can’t -- my body can’t fucking-- some crazy bitch is havin’ a real laugh right now lookin’ at us hopeless queers through her crystal ball.”

Brooke couldn’t help laugh more. He was anxious, nervous, confused, in denial -- just, so conflicted with every fiber of his being. The only thing he knew to do was joke. “I can’t wait for you to get all fat and miserable.”

Vanjie shook his head, his lips pressed together in a scowl. “Nah, that ain’t happening. Imma find another witch, not one of those pussy ass witches, like a real, powerful witch. And I’m gonna sort this out.”

Brooke smiled playfully. “You don’t want to meet our baby?? Me and you would make a real attractive kid…”

Vanjie was not in the joking mood, it seemed. His face was serious when he declared, “I’m not having my career ended before it starts, Brock. Not doin’ it.” Then he left the call, leaving Brooke staring at his own flabbergasted face.


	2. Branjie and the No Good Very Bad Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those weirdos who actually liked it and want more garbage. But this was fun and a stress reliever to come to during the end of the semester so I can’t really complain.

First things first, it was decided: no one can know. Not that they’d believe it of they heard it. Brooke wasn’t even sure he believed it -- he just did as Vanessa told him. 

Second, they were not keeping… it. Whatever it was, it was an abomination and it was going to be removed however that had to happen. Before it became too obvious, before it got in the way of Vanjie’s drag career. He loved drag more than anything -- more than Brooke, certainly more than the abomination. Anything that threatened to get in the way of him doing what he loved -- it had to go. 

The doctors were completely stumped, and wanted to refer him to this city or that city. he’d had to pay for an MRI looking for a hidden uterus or something — which didn’t make sense anyway since he GOT pregnant FROM HIS ASS. 

Alright, he decided. Where medical science fails… time to turn to alternative means. He tried making a potion from a recipe he found on the internet that was supposed to induce a miscarriage but all it did was give him cramps and diarrhea. He dealt with it alone and elected not to tell Brooke he’d even tried that idea, mostly out of shame. Instead, he shared his plan to hit up people with a connection to the supernatural forces.

Vanjie was almost a hundred percent certain it was a curse. Magic had to be involved. He believed in magic, of course. His first attempt at consulting a magical practitioner was getting into contact with a  _ santerio _ from back home. Unfortunately, when he explained his predicament to the magic priest, the answer he got was “Have you considered this may be punishment from God for your evil living?” By evil living, the priest either meant his gayness or his cross-dressing or both. Never finding out, Vanjie hung up and started moving down the list of witches he’d found on the internet.

In Denver, he met his second consult: a white woman who was either in her thirties or fifties — no in between — with unkempt, bleach colored hair and clothes that hung in tatters around her heroin-chic frame. “So… you’re a psychic and also a witch?”

“I prefer the term priestess of the true way. You might consider me a white witch.” She did not look  _ at _ Vanjie, rather above and around him. Whatever she saw with her red-ringed eyes pleased her. Her smile was unsettling. “How long have you known you’re expecting?” 

“Jesus!” remarked Vanjie. “How is that even a possibility in your head? Who THINKS of this shit?!”

The woman hummed in a distinctly I-didn’t-hear-what-you-just-said-I’m-much-too-high way. 

“But this is  _ possible?” _ Vanjie insisted, his voice squeaking at the end.

The woman held her palms up as if she was about to call small woodland animals to sit on her hands. “All things are possible in the vastness of the universe,” she said in a sing-song way. 

Vanjie was getting seriously pissed off. He’d been more emotional recently -- thanks abomination -- and if he started angry-crying in front of this tree hugger freak, he was really gonna lose it. “Just,” he took a breath. “Can you tell me: where did this come from? How do I break the curse? How much will it cost me for you to get rid of...” he waved his hand toward the waistline of his basketball shorts. “It.”

White Tree Sprite seemed surprised at Vanjie’s last remark. Her barely-there eyebrows arching and her cracked lips parting. “I am a  _ white _ witch.”

_ Yeah, no shit _ , Vanjie wanted to say but didn’t. 

She continued. “I have committed myself to never harming any living creature, including plant life. In fact, I subsist entirely on water, fresh air, and sunshine. Thus, I cannot comply with the last of your request.”

“Fine,” said Vanjie. “Then just give me answers. Could you, or some other sorcerer, fuck with the laws of nature to make this happen?”

“I could,” she answered, completely blazee. “It would be against the code of consent, but it is within the power of a magic user to  _ adjust _ certain natural guidelines. As for possible perpetrators, there is a subset of grey and black practitioners who commit themselves to wreaking havoc on and generally punishing men.”

“Can you track the bitch that did this to me?” His heart jumped.

“It is against my code to provide information that may be used to bring harm to others--”

“She brought HARM to ME!” Vanjie screamed.

The witch leaned back a little. “That aside…” she said softly. “This is a supernatural pregnancy, and any attempt at ending this pregnancy by yourself will end poorly for you.”

He leaned back with a huff. “So what do I do?”

“Well, this soap is infused with healing properties, and if you use it, you and your child will retain good health -- where are you going?”

Vanjie had his jacket slung over his shoulder and his fingers around the door handle. “Gotta go, already paid for the hour, keep the change!”

So attempt two had produced some information, but not a lot of results. If he really wanted it out of his hair, he was gonna have to drown his conscience and find a black magic user. He told Brooke about the hippie witch the next time they were together. Brooke seemed distant, like he had been most of the time when discussing the abomination. Vanjie felt like they were growing apart. The coward in him wanted to run for the hills and never talk to Brooke again. However, in between meetings with the few magic users he could find, time was passing. And his costumes were getting tighter. And Vanjie is no seamstress. Brooke, however -- Brooke knows a thing or two.

“So option one is I can add in a panel--”

“Gross.”

Brooke nodded along. “But knowing you and your style, I feel like it would work for us to separate some of the seams like this,” he drew it out on hotel stationary. “And have some like, you know how some bathing suits are all like stringy?”

“I usually hate that look.”

Brooke smiled and choked back a chuckle. He had been trying very hard to not laugh at everything Vanjie did -- even more than usual -- he was just so moody it was adorable. But whenever Brooke would slip and laugh at a situation or Vanjie’s behavior, Vanjie would get quiet and upset about it. And Brooke would feel bad because he couldn’t imagine going through what Vanjie is. 

He nudged Vanjie’s shoulder with his nose -- Brooke’s nose was always cold. Vanjie’s body language softened. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

Brooke smiled and slipped a hand into one of Vanjie’s pant pockets like a high-schooler. “So I could do this slightly deconstructed thing like I was saying. That’ll probably last longer than any panel I’d put in, cause theoretically you’d be able to adjust the lacing. But then the issue would be needing to undo all that lacing and redo it…” Brooke felt Vanjie shudder. He looked over and saw a solitary tear cresting down Vanjie’s cheek. Brooke’s heart broke. Leaning up, he placed a kiss to his cheek, smothering the tear and smearing the salt water across his lips. 

“Sorry, I just…” Vanjie whispered, shaking his head. “Could we try talking about this some other time?” He wiped his face on the inside of his arm.

“Of course.” 

A few moments of quiet passed before Brooke spoke up against his better judgement. “I hope you know it’s okay to cry,” he said. “Especially when you’re with me.”

Vanjie breathed in through his nose and got up to start pacing the room. 

“Like this situation is so ridiculous.” Brooke exhaled a nervous laugh. “But like, whatever you’re feeling, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

Vanjie shook his head. “I don't know  _ what _ I’m feeling, man,” he said honestly. “And I’m trying to not feel anything right now, so how about we do something.” He leaned over the bed, stretching his back toward Brooke. 

“Okay, absolutely,” Brooke said, preparing to go to his suitcase for a stack of cards. “You wanna play Rummy or—“

“Kiss me.”

Brooke turned back toward Vanjie, surprise on his face. Ever since they found out about the abomination, their sex life has pretty much gone on hold. They’d jacked off together a couple times, but that was about it. Now, as Vanjie looked at Brooke, pleading for him to help drown out his emotions with sex, Brooke was a little shocked by his own hesitation. “I… are you sure?”

Vanjie crossed the short distance between them. “Been long enough, hasn’t it?” He slipped a hand under Brooke’s shirt, pressing his fingers into the small of his back. 

Slowly, a smile rose to Brooke’s lips as he gazed into Vanjie’s eyes. “It certainly has.” 

Then they fucked you’re welcome.

**Author's Note:**

> Upon hearing the idea for this, I got these stellar reviews.  
> “Thanks i hate it” -- Fanny Trollop; “Missy this is awful and I love it” -- Lyonne
> 
> sometimes you just gotta be weird.


End file.
